A Timely Problem
by Lady Duck
Summary: High school senior Erica Ray has been assigned an English essay on her favorite book character...what could go wrong? Throw in a car accident and a drastic "change" of the universal kind, nothing much!
1. Crash

**I've been dying to write a Sherlock Holmes fanfic, so here's what my mind came up with! I know the general idea's already been introduced, but I just wanted to have a little fun with it; maybe see if I can finally finish a story without getting sidetracked :P. Anyways, I hope you like it! Read and review please!**

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The only remotely fun part of my day was English class, mostly because I was into all of the classics and loved to write stories and poems. Ironically, that was the class with my lowest grade; it was still an A, but I wanted to boost it up so I could show the world that I understood the world of literature and language, and had the grade to prove it. So, I figured that now would be as good a time as any to really wow my senior English teacher with my imaginative writing style.

We were assigned an essay, perhaps the simplest prompt that could have been given to me in my senior year. It asked for a literary analysis of one of our favorite characters in a novel, and I couldn't help but squeal when I read it. I had been waiting all year to do something like this! The only problem was…who was I going to choose to write about?

I had narrowed it down to three main choices: Elizabeth Bennett, Jane Eyre, or Sherlock Holmes. The differences between the first two characters and the last were so striking and obvious. I was normally an advocate for the romantic 19th century novel, and one with the strong-willed heroine who always found love in the end despite the obstacles. But Sherlock Holmes was put into my group of favorites for a different reason.

Obviously, he was the only male of the three, and by far the most intelligent. I had to admit that I had a slight crush on the calculating detective, and wished that I could just live a day in Baker Street, and watch him as he would deduce something that would seem entirely ridiculous, but all the same be so simple. He could solve any mystery, with exception to "A Scandal in Bohemia", and had such a keen perception of the world around him. Every night I would go to bed and dream that I would somehow enter his world, and be living in every part of it. I would go on cases with him, I would be the one to break down the immovable cold mask he hid behind, and he would realize that emotion did not, in any way, obscure logic indefinitely.

The day the paper was assigned, I couldn't think through the rest of the day without straying to Sherlock Holmes. What could I say about him that could be summed up into a five-page essay? There was really too much that had to be said, and not enough room to say it! My mind, the entire day, was exploding with references to his personality, his logic, his beliefs, that I was frequently called out by my other teachers for daydreaming and not paying attention. The rest of my classmates could only turn in their seats with the most surprised looks on their faces; I was not the lazy burnout-student, but the honor student who was going to Georgetown University next year with a scholarship! I don't think my spacey behavior planted any doubt in my teachers' minds that I was coming down with a case of summer fever, however.

I couldn't be happier when the final bell rang to let me out of the oppressing environment. I raced to my car in the rather large parking lot and was one of the first in line to exit. Traffic was a bit heavier than usual, but it didn't bother me as much as it would've normally. I eased up to the traffic light and prepared to make the left turn that would lead me down the road to my house, where I could pour out my thoughts onto paper.

I completely missed the black SUV coming at me from my right-hand side. All of a sudden, the right side of my compact Honda was crashing closer and closer to me, and I could feel my vehicle start to flip over. Glass was smashing, and the horn let out a short yelp as I leaned into it. No TV show or movie with the climatic crash scenes could have prepared me for this.

Everything was moving in slow motion, and time was totally irrelative to what was occurring outside my car. After the first roll, I could feel my arm being crushed into my side door, and I could feel a painful snap at the crease of my elbow. The third roll was when my head smashed into the radio; I hadn't really screamed up until I saw the streaks of blood all over my body and the dashboard. All I could do was pray to God that it would stop soon, but it seemed to take hours for the car to finally roll to a stop. Luckily, I was upright. My body was protesting with every amount of strength it had as I tried to push off the now-deformed door and get out; it smelled like pain and death in the car, and I couldn't deal with the thought of dying from this. Not now, when I hadn't even gotten to write my paper! Not when I hadn't been able to reveal the innermost workings of the most brilliant detective's mind in the world! There was still too much to do, so much to write, that I think I completely pushed the pain out of my memory.

But, as much as I tried, I couldn't command my body to do the same. After about a minute I could finally ascertain the damage. My head was slashed open and bleeding, my left arm was broken, I couldn't breathe without clutching my stomach (I guessed I'd broken a few ribs), and my right hand was numb. Not only that, but darkness was quickly closing in on me. I didn't know what I could do to stop it.

My eyes closed, against my will, and I slumped over the flattened steering wheel and fainted.


	2. Wrong Impression

**Argh, I keep forgetting to add these things! I do not own Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson, or any of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's characters, settings, etc. I only own that which you don't recognize :) Thanks, and read and review please!**

"Hush now, everything will be all right. Hush, my dear..."

I don't know exactly when my senses returned to me, but when I inhaled the dust of the dirt below me, my eyes shot open and I started to sneeze. The bright daylight blinded me a little bit, but I could make out the outlines of storied buildings, and the chimney stacks that sat on top of them. When my nose cleared of the annoying particles, I could smell...tea? I gasped when my face contorted into confusion; my cheeks and forehead felt like they were being pulled in opposite ways with hope of tearing them right down the middle.

"There there, my dear...can you sit up? There you go, easy now..."

I hadn't heard that heavily British voice at first. I was still busy trying to mask the pain that was obvious on my face. The voice kept whispering soothing words to me as gentle and firm hands guided my back up from the ground. I winced; my back was apparently injured as well, but the agony wasn't as sharp as it was now in my arm and ribs.

"Is it your back? Does it hurt?" the voice asked with concern.

"No duh it hurts!" I snapped through gritted teeth. The pain had begun to slightly increase as the same hands felt with significant pressure along my spine. "OW! If I say it hurts, then don't touch it!"

"My apologies, madam. I was only trying to search for any broken bones or bruising." That struck me as weird. Did he call me "madam"?

"Whatever, can you please just get me to an ambulance or something?" I asked with a kinder tone.

The voice paused for a considerable amount of time. "I'm sorry, madam, but the closest hospital is ten miles away, and you have already lost a large amount of blood from your head wound. I'm afraid a hospital, or ambulance, is out of the question."

Again, with the "madam"! I'd never heard someone in Florida say that word more than once in a five-minute period. What kind of person was looking after me, saying I had a head wound? Why couldn't he use the plain English language and say I had a cut or something? Something inside me, deep in my mind, told me to be wary of what I said around this person.

"Then what, you're just going to let me bleed my brains out in the middle of the street?" Oops, that probably wasn't exactly what I should've said. "I mean," I began again, trying to sound sweeter; the pain made it sound as if I was straining to even speak, "can you please take me inside somewhere so I can get bandaged up or something?"

My sight had cleared a lot as I had yelled at the male voice; I could see a built, stocky man kneeling next to me, with a distinguished moustache and the old-fashioned glasses that were tied to a cord in the breast pocket of his vest. Wait, he was wearing a vest? In hot, humid Florida?

Did I really hit my head that hard?

I guess I had been ogling at the man next to me because he raised an eyebrow and chuckled good-naturedly. "My dear, as a doctor, I have no intention of leaving you to suffer in the street. I shall take you up to my rooms and call for an associate to aid me in treating you for your injuries."

"Thank you Dr..." I whispered, the aching of my entire body now exposed for everyone to see. As much as I hadn't wanted to, I had let the doctor see how much I was hurting, something I had never liked to do. Pain was weakness to me, and people already thought of me as weak and submissive enough as it was. I guess from my recent display people were probably thinking the exact opposite, that I was rude and obnoxious.

"Watson, at your service," he finished my sentence.

The shock coursed through my body, and combined with all of my broken bones, the agony was excruciating. Did this man really identify himself as Dr. Watson? No, it had to be coincidence. There had to be dozens of Watsons in Florida! I tried to gather myself to remember if there were any students by the name of Watson at school, and this was just a relative of some sort.

"Are you all right, my dear? You have grown quite pale." Gosh, was I really that easy to read?

"I'm fine, it's just..." I didn't know how to explain to Dr. Watson that I had, for a small millisecond, thought he was _the _Dr. Watson of Baker Street, London. It was a stupid thought that made me giggle a little bit, causing a sharp pang to jab at my ribs.

I hadn't noticed that a rather large crowd had gathered around the doctor and me since I had regained consciousness. The men in their waistcoats and suits, and the women in their dresses of every color imaginable...hold on, dresses? I turned my head to look at every possible woman I could see from my peripheral. They were all wearing long, floor-length dresses with long sleeves; some had shawls wrapped around them, some wore bonnets and hats, and others had small purses dangling from their wrists. Every woman I saw had their hair wrapped up onto their heads, in buns, ponytails, or they were just that short.

This was starting to scare me. I couldn't deny now that I wasn't in Florida anymore. Then, where was I? What kind of place was there in the world that dressed like this? That's when I took notice of the other surroundings, and not just the weird people gawking at the scene in front of them.

There were no cars. Anywhere. All I could see driving around were horse-drawn carriages, all of them black, trotting along the street. The crunch of gravel grated on my already-tried nerves and started to give me a headache. I turned around, and saw a carriage fallen onto its side; the horses drawing it had been snapped free from the reins, and there was no one in the carriage. That was when I figured out that I had actually _hit _it. Then, I remembered how I had smelt dirt, and not concrete pavement. I was laying in the middle of a dirt road, amongst carriages and strange men and woman dressed as if they were in a movie we'd watched in school once about the Industrial Revolution in England. By the slight variations of the clothing, though, we were a little past that time era.

I turned back to Dr. Watson, who I caught staring at me with curious eyes. He looked away quickly and started to blush, which in turn, made me blush. Although, with all the blood I'd lost, I could only pass of as rosy.

"Dr. Watson...where am I?" I asked tentatively. I did not want to hear the answer come from his lips, because I knew that he wasn't going to say Tampa, Florida.

"Why, you're in Baker Street! London?" he added, as if trying to jog the memory of an amnesiac. Which I probably looked like at that moment.

I was prepared to go into a seizure, a shock, anything that would jolt me and remind me that for some reason, I was not in Florida anymore. But, I didn't. I sat there, feeling rather calm and at peace with the information that would have sent even the most peaceful person over the edge and into an asylum. This was where all my years of practicing patience came into play; I could now say that all the hours I spent waiting in line for rides at Disney World not only provided me entertainment value in the end, but also the patience I was restraining myself with. If it weren't for that, I would have gotten up and started to run, screaming in the streets, no matter how much it would hurt!

I only nodded to Dr. Watson, who simultaneously stood up to allow a tall and gaunt man through the ring of bystanders. The odor of tobacco and smoke filled my nose, making me cough and sneeze again. The man, who was very pale and had slicked black hair, handed me a handkerchief. I smiled in thanks.

"Now, do you know your name?" he asked me with a deep voice.

I was so confused; it sounded as if he was about to give me a psychology evaluation. I reminded myself to be careful of giving out my information, so I decided to use a false name.

"Grace Smith," I answered, trying to sound confidant. His shockingly gray eyes flashed a bit, but he remained composed.

"How old are you?"

I figured it wouldn't hurt me to give my real age. "Eighteen."

"And where do you live?"

"Florida."

The man nodded and continued to stare at me hard, like I was a criminal that he had to crack down. "You're not telling the truth," he stated.

I felt my mouth drop open. How could he have known? I mean, I wasn't an Oscar-worthy actress, but I figured I could fool him. I still had to deny it; maybe if I kept trying to convince him of who I was, or pretending to be at least, he would accept it as the truth.

"Of course I am! Why wouldn't I be telling the truth?" I challenged.

"I don't know at the moment, but the sooner you stop the charade, the sooner I can help you."

I laughed a bit hysterically. "You can't help me! How can you help me? I don't even know where I am, or what year it is, or where my family is, or how I got here..." My voice had started to quiet as I began to list off all the things that had gone horribly wrong today, and I was soon my normal self; quiet and shy. I don't know how I had become so bold in a matter of minutes, but I was never that forward or angry with another person. Perhaps it was the fact that I had somehow moved continents, possibly even time periods? That would make any reasonably sensible person a bit frantic.

"You are in Baker Street, London, England. The date is April 20, 1891, and you caused the hansom I was riding in to crash!" the man began to raise his volume a bit.

He said 1891. He said 18-freaking-91! I had traveled back over a hundred years to a place I had only dreamed about every night since I was ten! This was not possible; this was not real! He had to be lying to me. This man had to be playing a cruel, sick joke on me. There was absolutely no way I was stuck in 1890s London, England! But, then again, what acceptable explanation was there? I obviously wasn't in Florida, or even the continental U.S. It was just so...unexpected. I had always thought time-travel belonged in the movies. How could this have happened?

The man who had just revealed to me my surroundings was now staring at me expectantly. I remembered he had said that I had caused his carriage to crash...what? I did?

My natural instinct to worry about others instantly shone through the tough-girl façade I was trying to portray. "Oh my gosh, are you all right? You're not hurt, are you?"

"Calm yourself, Miss Smith, I am perfectly fine. However, the question remains as to how you suddenly appeared in the road, bloody and bruised," he snapped.

I could feel myself retreating into the shell I had built around me when I was young. Any other person would be furious at the insinuation that they were solely responsible for almost killing a man, but all I could feel was remorse and guilt. It really was my fault that he had crashed into me, and the fact that I didn't even know how made me feel worse.

"Look, I'm sorry I caused your...carriage, or whatever it's called, to crash, and I'm glad you're okay," I said with all the sincerity I could muster. "But, I don't know how I got here."

He seemed to see how honest I was, and nodded resolutely, seemingly accepting my admission of guilt. The man swiftly stood up and walked over to the doctor I had spoken to earlier, who now seemed to be arguing with the carriage driver. Dr. Watson pointed at me and started speaking in angry tones, making me look down at my bruised and dirty feet.

A few minutes later, Dr. Watson came over to me and said, "Now my dear, can you walk?"

I shrugged and tried to push myself up using only my right hand, which wasn't numb anymore. I didn't have enough upper body strength to lift myself off the ground, and my legs were so weakened and wobbly that they couldn't hold me up, even if I had somehow managed to stand up. I kept trying to stand for a few minutes before giving up.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Watson. I can't," I said quietly. There went another show of weakness; I couldn't even get up by myself!

Dr. Watson chuckled and bent down.

"Wait, what are you doing? Dr. Watson!" He had swooped me into his arms and was now carrying me bridal style to a building that wasn't far from where I'd plopped down into Baker Street.

I had to tear my eyes away from the approaching address that was so clear on the front door. 221B Baker Street. This had to be a dream.

Dr. Watson carried me up the stairs to the second floor, where he brought me to a moderately furnished bedroom. He set me gently upon the bed; the comforter was a welcome relief from the hard and rocky dirt road I had been laying on for God knows how long.

"Now, Miss Smith, is it? I shall come back presently, and we shall attend to your head and the broken bones," he said as he comfortingly placed his hand on my shoulder.

There wasn't one part of my body that couldn't keep me from wincing in pain every time it was touched. This was especially _not _one of those times.

"It's fine, Dr. Watson," I assured him as he began to apologize. "If anything, I should be the one apologizing."

"For what, my dear?"

"For screaming at you earlier. I didn't mean to sound so...cranky, I guess is the word I'm looking for. It just hurts a lot," I admitted with a bit of shame.

"Miss Smith, I would have been truly worried if you had not reacted the way you did! It would have been near impossible to escape injury after the crash we were in!"

"Wait, 'we'? What do you mean...?" The pieces clicked instantly, and I gasped in horror.

"You were with that man in the carriage! I almost killed you both! Oh my God, you're not hurt either, are you?" I asked frantically. I can't believe I was almost responsible for _two _murders! And in one day, nonetheless!

Dr. Watson chuckled instead. "Do not fret about me, my dear. I have been through much worse than an overturned hansom. Rest assured, I am absolutely fine."

"Oh good," I said with relief. I smiled up at the man who had already done so much for me today, the best being not question my sanity, and grasped his hand.

"Thank you, Dr. Watson. I owe you big time."

His brow furrowed a bit in confusion. I remembered that I would have to watch my phrasing or else I would sound like a foreign lunatic who no one could understand. I smiled apologetically and said, "I mean, how can I repay you?"

Dr. Watson's face cleared and returned my smile. "I shall not ask for payment of any sort from you until you are quite well again. Now, I will go look for bandages. I will be back in a few minutes."

He was almost to the door when the image of the other man he was with crept into my mind. I almost slapped myself for being so stupid and ignorant; I had not even asked what his name was!

"Wait!"

Dr. Watson turned around as his hand latched onto the door knob.

"Who was the man you were with in the carriage? The one who kept asking me questions?" I had a good feeling who it was. If I was in the presence of Dr. Watson of 221B Baker Street, then there was only one possible answer.

"Sherlock Holmes," he said with a smile. And he left to hunt down the bandages.


	3. No Secrets

**Thanks for reading, whoever you may be! I know it's kinda weird to start a story with three pre-written chapters, but I haven't had much time to upload them, so I'm gonna get what I can on here! Read and review please!**

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I had never had broken bones before; bruises, yes, but definitely not broken bones. I tended to keep away from activities that could cause those kinds of injuries that could alter lives forever. One time I'd read a story about a young boy who played...basketball, I think it was, and broke his kneecap; needless to say, he couldn't walk on that leg without limping in pain for the rest of his life, and that was with the physical therapy! Thus, sports were a definite no-no for me.

Dr. Watson was the kindest and most gentle doctor on the face of the earth. The bandages were rough and smelled like they'd been stowed away for years, but he managed to stop the bleeding from my head and fashion a sling for my arm. And, my bruised (not broken! Yes!) ribs were slowly starting to hurt less. At least I could breathe without wincing in pain every single time. That didn't mean the aching was subsiding everywhere else; I even asked the doctor if he had any painkillers anywhere. He didn't get what "painkillers" were, but I think the context gave away its meaning. The minute he refused me, I remembered how easy it was to get addicted to drugs like morphine, which happened to be the only pain-reducing drug Dr. Watson had on his hands.

It took him only half an hour to take care of everything. He even told me I could rest in this room until I felt well enough to go home. I didn't tell him, but I was thinking how that seemed near impossible; how could I get home when I didn't even know how I got _here _in the first place? The situation was looking really bad in my eyes. My parents were probably freaking out back in Tampa, wondering why I wasn't on time to pick up my little sister Ashley from school. They would be so worried, and not to mention how much they would flip about the accident...

Oh my God, the accident! They would hear about it from who knows where, come to the scene, and discover their car was crushed with their daughter no where to be found! What was happening right now, in the real universe? Was my car still there, completely bashed to bits of steel and glass? Or was everything perfectly normal, and the crash never happened? It couldn't have been a figment of my imagination, since the bruises and blood were just about as real as it gets. But, what about the other driver? If I wasn't there, in my car, which had been totaled last I could tell, then what happened to the driver of the other car? I prayed that they were okay, and hadn't traveled back in time like me.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts. I told the visitor to come in, and was surprised to find Sherlock Holmes looking rather pensive. Well, he was a detective, after all.

"Hello, Mr. Holmes," I greeted him, trying to sound as cheerful as possible.

"Good afternoon, Miss Smith. I trust you are feeling better?" he replied formally.

I shrugged, acting as if getting hit by a car, or a hansom, or whatever I was hit with, wasn't that big of a deal. "Eh, just a little banged up is all."

"Yes, I can see that. And yet, Watson was able to treat most of your wounds? Your head is no longer bleeding."

"Yep, it feels almost as good as new," I replied with a smile.

He didn't return it, which wiped the grin off my face. Then again, I knew already of his rather unsociable moods, so it didn't come as a total shock to me.

"So," I said, not exactly sure what to say.

Holmes glanced down from me to the disposed book on the edge of my bed. He almost burst out laughing when he read the title, but quickly masked the clear humor on his face. I had to smile; he'd looked very...human, when he had smiled ever so suddenly.

"Watson has attempted to give you a preoccupation, I see," he observed. His face was serious, but I could see his gray eyes light and teasing, a complete contrast from the glares he'd been giving me on the street earlier.

I just shook my head. "Obviously you could tell that medicine isn't really my thing."

"Yes, I would venture to guess that you would rather peruse other types of books...Jane Austen, perhaps?"

I gawked at him, and then recalled that deduction was his job. But I couldn't figure out for the life of me what had given my love for Jane Austen away. The only book of Jane Austen's I owned was _Persuasion_, and even so, that was in my backpack. There was no way he could have known about it. Then, it became evident that I had brought something with me to this weird Victorian place.

"Where is it? Where's my backpack?" I demanded.

Holmes gave me a reluctant smile and shrugged. "What is a backpack?"

"Knapsack, bag, purse, whatever you want to call it! Where is it?"

He turned away from me and strode towards the window. His silence was maddening; I knew how quiet and thoughtful he could be, according to Dr. Watson, but being able to witness such behavior made me impatient and a little put off. How could Dr. Watson stand such stillness!

"I know you have it, Mr. Holmes. I didn't even know I'd brought it with me here, and you stoop down and _steal _it from a broken girl lying in the street!" I started to shout. My imagination provided me with the rather illusive language, but it seemed to do the trick. Holmes had looked down and heaved his shoulders in a sigh. Regret was waving from him.

"Your name is Erica Ray. You live in Tampa, Florida and you have one sibling, a sister. You receive grades in school that are rather high for a woman, so you are quite intelligent for your young age. You enjoy reading Jane Austen, and consequently write yourself. You like to sing also." Holmes stood up straighter and directed his gaze straight at me; his eyes were so hard and intense that I could feel the bed shaking from my trembling. "I also discovered that you live in the year...2007, was it? Thus it explains your odd wardrobe."

I looked down and saw he was right. My jeans, white shirt, and flip flops were obviously not known to Victorian England as clothing yet. I would stick out like a sore thumb!

I nodded to the man who was standing by my window, looking expectantly at me with softer gray eyes. "Okay, you're right. I'm Erica Ray, from Tampa, Florida in the year 2007, and everything else you said. Well done, Mr. Holmes."

"I admit I used an underhanded method at gaining the information. Allow me to return to you your...bag," he said the last word uncertainly, as if not sure as to what to call the object. "It's in the sitting room."

"All right then. Give me a hand, will you?" I reached out for his arm to help me out of bed, but Holmes didn't come one inch closer.

"What do you think you are doing? You cannot get out of bed yet!"

I grit my teeth and decided I didn't need his help. "Oh yes I can!"

My legs swung over the side of the bed as my good hand pushed me up into a sitting position on the bed. My feet touched the cold wood floor welcomingly; it would feel awesome to get up and moving again. Even though I'd only spent...oh, goodness knows how long in bed, it seemed like a prison sentence to me. I needed to stimulate myself with movement, or I would practically die of boredom!

"Miss Ray, I advise you to stop," Holmes warned as he began to move closer.

I shook my head. I was determined to get out of bed. "Nope. There's no way I'm sitting in this bed anymore, so either you help me, or watch quietly."

I could've sworn that I'd heard him mutter, "Oh good Lord" before he approached me with evident caution. His long hand grasped my upper arm, and with surprising strength, lifted me from the bed and held onto me as I tried to gain my balance. Luckily my legs had gained more stability than earlier, but I still had the feeling like I was going to fall flat on my face. I could feel his grip loosen on my arm, encouraging me to try a step forward. I did, and almost fell to the ground; my legs were still weak. But, Holmes pulled me up into his chest and held me there for a second longer than necessary. It felt wonderful, like I belonged there. But, it was still really improper.

"Umm...Mr. Holmes? You can let go a little bit," I said. I was horrified when I could hear the sadness in my voice.

I guess he'd heard it too. He gave me the strangest look, as if I was a dead person come back to life. "Yes, of course."

The trip down to the sitting room took a long time, but with Holmes' steadying guidance I made it without worsening any possibility of recovering. We traveled down wordlessly, except for the gasps and grunts I kept making. We returned to my room and I gratefully climbed back into the bed; the exercise had been harder than I'd thought it would be.

I quickly checked that everything was still there as I'd left it. Notebooks, pencils, book, cell phone, iPod...oh God, if Holmes had ever gotten a hand on any of my futuristic electronic devices, he would have a field day. There had to be a good hiding place for them where he couldn't poke around and find them.

I sighed in content and said, "Thanks, Mr. Holmes. I guess I owe you too."

"You shall not dream of payment until you are quite rested, Miss Ray," Holmes replied with a wave of his hand.

"I don't know if you realize how similar you are to Dr. Watson," I chuckled to myself.

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing. Would you mind leaving now? I want to go back to sleep." I yawned, which was quite exaggerated, and snuggled into the comforter and pillows.

Holmes took the hint and nodded, leaving the room without another word. Once the door clicked shut, I scrambled to find my cell phone. I turned it back on with an idea in mind; hopefully it hadn't been damaged in the crash.

The screen blinked and froze to show my screensaver, with the time reading 5:12 P.M. I checked the clock on the bedside table; that one said 5:12 too. So, time was connected between the two worlds I now knew of. As I sat thinking, I realized how irrelevant the information was to my situation. So I figured out that this world was kind of like a parallel to my real life; how was that going to help me? Now, I couldn't help but feel like I would stuck in this place for a long time.


	4. Wasting My Time

**Here's chapter 3! Thanks for reading, and review please!**

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"Miss Ray, would you like to eat breakfast now?" Mrs. Hudson waited in the doorway with that ever so motherly look on her face; now she actually had reason to prepare breakfast for two, since Mr. Holmes preferred to starve himself. I reminded myself to let him know sometime about the dangers of anorexia.

"Sure, but give me a few minutes. I'll be right down!" I told her.

Mrs. Hudson pursed her lips. "My dear, I know that you're aware you're not to move from your bed for another three days. Dr. Watson's orders."

"I know that, which is why it'll be perfectly fine when he doesn't find out, right?"

"I'm sorry, Miss Ray. Shall you choose to get out of bed, then I hold no responsibility for what happens to come out of my mouth."

"Oh come on, Mrs. Hudson!" I whined, which was uncharacteristic of me. "It's not like I'm a cripple or anything! I _can _move!"

To prove it to her, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up with a lot more balance than my attempt yesterday. At least I wouldn't need Mr. Holmes's assistance, not that I would object to it anyway. Mrs. Hudson's expression grew grimmer by the second as she took in the sorry state of my clothes; she shook her head several times and eyed me up and down with an odd look in her eye.

"Oh for heaven's sake, Miss Ray! If you're to come downstairs for breakfast, the least you could do is wear something clean!" she said exasperatedly.

She was going to let me come down! She wasn't going to say a word to Dr. Watson! I was so happy that I squealed and walked over to her as fast as I would allow myself to go and hugged the elderly landlady before she could react. I was even happier when she wrapped her arms around me and patted my back gently, chuckling lightly.

"Now, I happen to have a dress that might suit you. I would think it is your size, but granted, I haven't worn it for years."

"I don't care Mrs. Hudson! Anything you have will be fine."

She nodded to me and briskly went to her room, returning in a few minutes with a long-sleeved sky blue dress that was plain and simple, and a corset. Perfect for me, in other words. I smiled and took the dress from her, going into the adjoining bathroom and trying to remove my dirty and rather sticky clothes from my body. Dirt was encrusted on my arms, and sweat had crystallized on my face. I was an atrocious human being!

"Mrs. Hudson!" I called through the closed door, "I'm going to wash up first, okay?"

I heard her holler back an affirmative, and I set to work trying to remove anything that looked like a brown spot. Considering the fact that I was tan enough as it was, that part was hard. But, the bath was warm and soothing to my aching bones; my broken arm welcomed the relief, as did my oily hair. When I drained the bath, I felt like a new person. There wasn't a visible dirt patch on me, and my face had regained some color to it. My hair, when combed out, began to curl as the air dried it. The corset was a different problem, however. I had to have Mrs. Hudson come in and help me.

She didn't tighten it to the point where I couldn't breathe, like how I thought most girls wore it from what I read of and saw in the movies. Considering my condition, that probably wouldn't have been the best idea. When she'd finished fitting the corset, I slipped on the dress and left my hair the way it was. The dress felt unfamiliar and really weird, but then again I'd always hated dresses. I longed for the day when Mrs. Hudson will have washed my jeans and shirt.

"There, Miss Ray. I daresay you look quite right for a young lady now," she said approvingly.

I snorted; I think the sound startled the housekeeper. "Probably not, but thanks anyway!"

"What do you mean? You do actually look very pretty, my dear."

"No I don't, Mrs. Hudson! I don't look anything like what I should! No offense Mrs. Hudson, but I don't think I can pull of this 19th century domestic woman crap!" I said. I knew I was right because even Mrs. Hudson looked at me like I was about to sprout another head. I just wasn't 19th century material; everything about me screamed 'I'm from the future!'

Mrs. Hudson tapped a finger on her chin and eyed me carefully. After a minute, she nodded, agreeing with me. "You're right. You will not seem to be a woman of society looking like that. However, I can remedy that little problem!"

And remedy it she did. She twisted my hair into a bun on my head, leaving a few strands to hang by my face. My face was powdered, and my lips received a light coat of lipstick that looked all too natural. When Mrs. Hudson was done, I looked and felt like I could definitely pass of as a woman about town.

"Thanks, Mrs. Hudson!" I hugged the old woman gratefully. "Is it time to eat now?"

She laughed and led me downstairs, helping me down the steps. Dr. Watson wasn't in the dining room when I entered, as I had been hoping, but someone else was.

"Good morning, Miss Ray. You are looking quite better today," Mr. Holmes said as he scoured the newspaper with a cup of tea in hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes. Yeah, I feel a lot better today, thanks!" I sat down across from the lean detective and helped myself to a biscuit and some eggs.

I began to stuff my face with all of the delicious food Mrs. Hudson had laid out for us. It tasted nothing like the gross cafeteria food I was used to, or the microwave meals I made for myself at home. The meal smelled of hospitality, and I thanked the landlady several times over for such a hearty breakfast.

Mr. Holmes looked upon me as I was eating, I noted, with a look of slight disgust. I reminded myself that I wasn't in 2007 anymore, and I slowed down my chewing. His gray eyes glinted with reprove and turned back to the small print in front of him.

"So, what's on the agenda for today, Mr. Holmes?" I asked.

He didn't even look up from the paper. "I believe that the only activity on your 'agenda' for today is rest, Miss Ray."

"Please don't make me sit in that room for another 24 hours, Mr. Holmes! Seriously, I need the exercise! And it's not like I can't walk!"

"I'm afraid that Dr. Watson ordered you to stay in bed."

"I know that, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him."

"Watson also ordered me to make sure that his orders are carried out," Holmes added.

I laughed. "He thinks I'm going to make a break for it or something?"

"If you mean that he sensed you would attempt to do something rather obtuse, then yes."

"I would never do something stupid, Mr. Holmes!" I defended. His words had stung a little; did I really seem that careless to Dr. Watson?

Mr. Holmes's eyes shot up and glared at me. He set his paper down in a swift motion and faced forward so he was positioned exactly across the table from me.

"I suppose you wouldn't deem yesterday's incident as stupid, Miss Ray?"

"No, I wouldn't. If anything, it was stupid of you to take my backpack without asking!"

"You could have worsened your injuries."

"I could have reported you to the police for stealing, Mr. Holmes." Okay, I wasn't sure if he could really go to jail for theft of a backpack, but at the moment it seemed like a good comeback. "Besides, my legs weren't injured, my arm and ribs were."

"They were considerably weakened."

"And now they are considerably stronger!"

"I am not going to sit and argue this matter with you, Miss Ray! It is a waste of my time!" I'd gotten him mad now, even if he didn't betray it through his expression. His flashing eyes said enough.

"You're already arguing!"

"No, I am not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"No, I'm not!"

"Yeah, you are! Don't deny it Mr. Holmes!"

"This is insufferable, Miss Ray. I advise you to return upstairs immediately and rest. If you decide not to follow my advice, then that is your choice, as incorrect as it may be. Good day, Miss Ray," he said coldly as he got up from the table and left the room.

I sat there for a minute, listening for any other sounds of movement in the apartment. Mrs. Hudson was busying herself with dishes in the kitchen, and I could hear rustling papers in the sitting room. The table started to shake quietly, freaking me out a little bit; it was just me, my hands clutching to the edge of the table. I put my head in my hands as the trembling increased.

How could I have been so ignorant and stupid? It was not in my place to argue with the man who had so graciously allowed me to stay in his home until I was better. My pride wanted to feel triumphant, but my conscience could only feel guilty. Obviously I had upset him, and obviously he had upset me by saying Dr. Watson thought I was careless. It seemed we were both to blame, but I felt I deserved all of it. Knowing what I had to do, I stood up and walked slowly into the sitting room.

Holmes was sitting at his desk amidst stacks of disheveled papers, his head bent closely towards the surface. My entrance caused him to lift his head a little bit, but barely noticeably.

"Mr. Holmes?"

He didn't turn around, making me even more anxious. I hoped he wasn't too angry with me that he wouldn't accept my apology.

"Please, Mr. Holmes. I have something I want to say to you, but it won't work unless you look at me. Please," I pleaded.

Holmes heaved his shoulders and turned around, his face a composed mask of indifference. "What is it?"

His coldness almost made me want to cry. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for arguing with you." But that didn't seem enough. I had done more to this man than just arguing with him. "And for lying to you about my name, and for almost killing you, and, well...for everything. I know you don't want me here, and that I'm an imposition, but I hope you know that I really appreciate you letting me stay here."

I had to look down; I couldn't bear to see what emotion would lie in his eyes after my admission of guilt. After a few seconds, I heard steps coming towards me. Soon, his polished leather shoes eclipsed my view of the carpet. I looked up, and saw that there was no anger in his gaze.

"Thank you, Miss Ray. I accept your apology," he said calmly.

Nothing else.

It didn't seem like he would say anything else, so I nodded and said, "Okay, I'll just go back upstairs now. I'm sorry I disturbed you."

As I turned to leave, he said, "I do not think you were responsible for the collision with my hansom, Miss Ray."

"Really?" I asked with some small amount of hope. Maybe he had forgiven me after all. "Then whose fault is it?"

"It is not one person's fault. It was merely a chance of Fate," he said simply.


	5. Debate of the Minds

As much as I tried to tell myself that Holmes had indeed forgiven me, there was still that little voice in my head that wouldn't let me forget the look of anger and frustration on his face when we'd argued a few days ago, and knowing that I was the cause of it. The last three days had passed with an air of somewhat forced cordiality. I was being as polite and even-tempered as I could be, but Holmes still had that mood every few hours of brooding and sulking with his pipe. Every morning, I'd come downstairs for breakfast, said good morning to my host, only to have him grunt a reply, or not say anything at all. He wouldn't say another word to me until tea time (I still had trouble getting used to drinking tea; it tasted like tar to me, but the sugar helped a little). That was the time I took to read a little, so I wouldn't become brainwashed with Victorian ideals while I was stuck here.

Yesterday, I had been reading _Persuasion_, again, and was on the tenth chapter when Holmes cleared his throat suddenly. I didn't think anything of it; he normally made some noise of the sort in the afternoon to express his boredom. He did it again, making me look up this time. His piercing gray eyes were fixed on me, a small smirk on his face.

"You're reading that book again?" Holmes emphasized "again". I had to fight myself not to roll my eyes; instead, I just smiled politely.

"Yes, I'm reading it aga...wait, how did you know I've read this before?" I almost missed the clue in his statement, and remembered that it _was _Sherlock Holmes I was talking to, master of all things deduction and logic.

Holmes took his pipe from his lips and sighed. "How do you think I the knowledge came to me, Miss Ray? I challenge you to use that staunch skill of observation deep within yourself and figure this out on your own."

Crap. Crap times one hundred. I felt my mouth drop in surprise. He wanted me to try and deduct something? Did he realize who he was talking to? I'd thought he believed women couldn't think! Why should I be any different? This was one of those moments where I cursed being an honors student, and wanted desperately to be stupid. And all the few moments I was anxiously trying to compose myself, Holmes just sat there with his pipe, smoking away with a mischievous twinkle in his eye and a patronizing smile playing on his lips.

Okay, calm down Erica, I told myself. You can do this. You're not stupid, you're intelligent. And you will figure this one out.

But what if I deducted wrong? Would he laugh at me? Scorn me for my pitiful attempts to look like I knew what I was doing?

Well, duh! He is Sherlock freaking Holmes! He patronizes people and wears them down with a single calculating stare! I could almost feel the brain power decreasing as I kept reassuring myself that I wasn't dumb.

"Any day now, Miss Ray," Holmes's impatience voiced.

Okay, Erica. Calm down, and look at the book. He had to have seen something on it that gave away that it had been read a lot. Nothing on the cover; no smudges, dirt, tears, anything of the sort. Nothing on the back cover either. The pages were relatively unscathed; there was nothing on them that Holmes could have seen that I couldn't when looking at it from three inches away. So, the binding then? I flipped the book so the binding faced upwards towards me, and smiled.

Of course! How could I have missed something so simple! It was right in front of me the entire time, and I was being a complete dunderhead and worrying my butt off about impressing Holmes. I wanted to smack myself.

Holmes had been watching while I had the inner exchange. I looked up to him, and saw a look of knowing on his face.

"Well, Miss Ray? Have you figured it out?"

"The binding is almost falling apart," I said with an embarrassed laugh. "I'm such an idiot."

"Contrary to popular belief, you are not incompetent, Miss Ray," Holmes replied with sarcasm.

I remembered my manners, and just nodded. I stared down at my book for a few seconds until Holmes said, "What? No witty remark? No sarcastic attack to my verbal abuse? Come now, Miss Ray!"

"I'm only trying to be as nice as I possibly can," I said through slightly grit teeth. "It's less than I owe you, but at least it's something."

"Hmm, this mood of yours is rather gloomy and deprecating to my mind's stimulation! I shall not have it."

"You're gonna have to get used to it, Mr. Holmes. My parents always told me to respect my elders, no matter how much I didn't want to," I said with a small grin.

"You don't want to respect me? Is that the reason for your dull behavior?"

"Well...yeah," I said with a little bit of surprise. "Couldn't you figure that out?"

Holmes barked a laugh. "As attuned my mind is to the art of reason and deduction based upon a physical sense, I admit that the skill does not extend to the realm of emotion."

"I know that, but wasn't it kind of obvious? I mean, every time I've spoken to you, with exception to the past few days, we've almost come down to sparking a world war!"

"Yes, you're apparent aversion to any and all of my advice, and my frequent comments on the weather, have been quite obvious. But, I only deduced that it was due to your transportation here from almost 150 years into the future, and your wanting to return home."

I listened to him, amazed that he was so foreign to human emotion that he could have knocked me on my side with a gentle poke. Was Sherlock Holmes seriously saying that he had no idea what it felt like to feel?

"So, you've never felt before?" I asked, slightly confused.

Holmes's eyes redirected their stare to the fireplace, where the embers glowed softly among the ashes. "No. I am not completely ignorant of the capability of emotion and feeling to inhabit a man's mind, or his heart, for that matter."

No doubt he had _some_ kind of feeling for Dr. Watson, being his best friend and all. "You mean Dr. Watson, right?"

"Yes, he is one, but not the only, I'm afraid."

I frowned. "Why would that be such a bad thing?"

"Emotions complicate the reasoning of the mind! My senses of observation would be completely diluted, because I would lose a moment in time thinking of a certain person, or wondering as to their whereabouts, or behavior, or state of well being! I would no longer be servant to the people who come to me, asking for my undivided attention in bringing them justice for the acts committed against them, because I would be distracted, and thus not giving them my full attentions," he said, in seemingly one breath, I might add.

What he was telling me, I'd already read before, so I wasn't too surprised. But still, there had to be a way for him to quit thinking that emotion was his personal Hell on earth! There had to be...

"Don't you need emotion sometimes, to understand the motives of people, and even give them moral justification for what they've done?" I asked.

"I am not a robot, Miss Ray. I know of certain feelings, and what I lack in Watson is most knowledgeable of."

"No, that's not what I meant." I tried to consider different ways of telling him my meaning, and settled for, "wouldn't it help so much more to have experienced these emotions, and know for yourself what they are capable of bringing about in people?"

Holmes didn't answer right away. He sat and stared at the mantle, huffing and puffing his tobacco while contemplating a reply. I took the time to put _Persuasion_ off to the side; I had been clutching it so badly my hands were throbbing. The bookcases stacked haphazardly with volumes upon volumes of works invited me to come and check them out. I scoured the shelves for something new, something interesting. A black book was jutting out in a position that could be dangerous to someone walking by, so I carefully removed it so as to not jostle the bookshelf's other inhabitants. It was a new-looking copy of Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein_. How perfectly this could be used for argument's sake!

I went back to my seat, and Holmes still hadn't said a word. I don't think he had even noticed me moving, until I sat back down. He looked sharply at me and down at the novel in my hands.

"I never figured you for a Romanticist, Mr. Holmes," I smiled.

"That is not mine; Dr. Watson purchased it the other day and left it lying about in my chair," he said as if Watson had pulled a felony, "so I put it where it belongs."

"You know what I was just thinking?" I ignored his excuse about the book; it angered me that he could treat such a wonderful book in such a callous way.

"No. Sharp and observant I may be, but I am not a psychic," he remarked dryly.

This time, I didn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "I was thinking how Frankenstein's creation is such a misunderstood being, no, not monster-" I gave him a glare for even letting the thought of interrupting cross his mind, "-and that is what leads to Frankenstein's downfall, in the end. If he hadn't come so quickly to decide that the thing he created was monstrous, and instead took time to understand the confusion and feeling of necessity to act like any other human being, then he could have saved himself all the heartbreak he has to go through. See what I mean?"

Holmes nodded, if not appearing outright bored. "Yes, but I fail to see how this applies to me."

Oh my God, he was such a genius, but he could be so incredibly stupid!

"It applies to you because you're kind of like Frankenstein. You don't want anything to do with the emotions and feelings of those around you, and like his creation, you're eventually going to misunderstand them when you finally have to face them. It's gonna cause you a lot of unnecessary misfortune and whatnot, let me tell you!"

"I see," Holmes said simply.

I nodded and opened the book to start reading, feeling like I'd proven my point. I had finally had a successful debate with the infamous Sherlock Holmes, and I felt like I'd come out the victor! How many people could say that?

"Miss Ray," he interrupted my reading.

His soft gray eyes caught mine instantly, making me blush a little bit.

"I understand the argument which you have presented. It was very accurate, and backed by solid points and interpretations," he said. The victory celebration was beginning to rage inside of me.

"But, that does not mean I will alter my views of emotion just because a 17 year old woman deftly debated them with me. Thank you for the interesting discussion, Miss Ray," he concluded.

My happiness at feeling like I'd finally won an argument was snuffed out like a candlelight.

* * *

**Thanks for taking time to read this chapter, one of my favorites in my opinion :) I hope it seemed like the argument was founded upon somewhat correct bases, but I went off of what I'd learned about Frankenstein earlier this year in English, so some of it might seem a little "What the heck?" But, thanks for reading, and review please! I feel a lot more comfortable with constructive criticism (not flaming hate reviews!), so leave me any notes of improvement!**


	6. Priceless

**Here's the next chapter! Thanks for reading this, and I hope you like it! Dr. Watson finally gets fired up at Holmes, and it was really fun for me to write :) Read and review please!**

* * *

"_Miss Ray, I need you to stay here," Holmes instructed me._

"_No! I'm coming with you!" I argued._

"_No, you're not! It's too dangerous! I _need _you to remain here. Please, Miss Ray." Holmes's gray eyes were pleading with me to agree with him, even if his face didn't betray anything. Ordinarily I would've rejoiced at such a plain showing of sentiments, but the situation didn't call for celebration. It only called for fear._

_I nodded solemnly. "Fine, I'll stay here."_

_Holmes broke out into a relieved smile and embraced me tightly. I could feel the anxiety; it kept telling me that this could be our last moment together. I tried to force the idea out of my head, but it was immovable. The thought of losing my new friend brought on a wave of tears, of which Holmes's coat was the recipient._

"_Don't cry, Miss Ray. Please, it only makes it more difficult," Holmes said gruffly. _

_For the first time since I'd come to Baker Street, the pained intonations in his voice were unmistakable. He really _did _care!_

_But such a simple request wasn't easy to follow. If anything, I began to cry harder._

_Holmes began to stroke my hair and shush me. The effect was calming, and my breath began to regain its normal pace again. I reached a hand up to wipe away any stray tears, but Holmes beat me to it. I looked up at him and tried to smile._

"_Go, Mr. Holmes. That criminal won't catch himself," I said._

_The strangest look crossed Holmes's face, almost as if he was debating whether to leave me here or not. Impossible; the trail of crime was too distinct for the bloodhound not to follow. He seemed to know as much, and nodded with some resolution._

_He leaned down and pressed his lips to my forehead, pulling away to say, "I will come back, Erica. You needn't worry about me."_

_It was almost as good as a promise, and it was as good as I was going to get. I unwrapped my arms from his waist and folded them across my chest, blowing out the breath I'd held in for so long. Holmes gave me one last look, and in his eyes I could see the love there. Pure love, something I would've never dreamed of Holmes possessing. _

_That made the separation that much harder and painful. He was out the door, his coattails flapping with the sudden movement. I returned up to my room and locked the door behind me. Any tears that hadn't managed to present themselves earlier did so then, and I cried myself to sleep._

_The next morning I woke up to a scream. I shot out of bed and ran to the source of it; Mrs. Hudson was in the sitting room with Dr. Watson, and she was clutching her stomach as she sobbed uncontrollably. Dr. Watson was quietly reading the newspaper, tears streaming down his face. I peeked over his shoulder to read what had made my two friends so upset._

_**Famous Detective Sherlock Holmes Found Dead In the Thames**_

_The world around me went black as I screamed._

"Miss Ray . . . Miss Ray! Wake up! Wake up, Miss Ray!"

Gentle hands were putting pressure on my shoulder and trying to shake me awake. The area was still sore from the accident, making me moan in pain. The hands immediately went away; seconds later I felt a cold cloth pressed onto my forehead. My eyes opened quickly at the freezing temperature, finding Dr. Watson standing over me.

"Dr. Watson?" I asked stupidly.

"My dear, are you all right? You were screaming, and the door was locked. Holmes had to use his lock-pick to open the door," he explained.

I shook my head, making cold water drip from the cloth onto my nightgown. A few droplets fell on my makeshift sling.

That dream. That horrible, frightening, terrible dream. It was still fresh in my memory; the accompanying pain I felt in it came back, making me start to cry.

Dr. Watson rubbed my good arm soothingly and held out a handkerchief to wipe the tears away. Unlike my dream Holmes, Watson didn't whisper any comforting words to me. The only sounds were his breathing and my sobbing, which sounded a lot like a braying donkey. I tried to calm down, tried to barrage myself against the betraying liquids, but my body seemed intent on emptying out its storage of tears. It was a good ten minutes before I could fully breathe without my body shaking with watery sensations. When I'd stopped, Dr. Watson was giving me a look that made me feel like he was examining me for any signs of mental insanity.

Finally, he spoke. "My dear, what was it you were dreaming about?"

If I had answered that I was dreaming about Holmes outright, it would have been too embarrassing a situation to explain myself out of. And yet, I wanted to tell the doctor about my dream, just to get it off my chest. Instead, I decided to use a roundabout method.

"Dr. Watson, have you ever dreamed about losing a friend?" I asked, avoiding his question.

Watson didn't catch that I was redirecting the conversation; he nodded slowly. "Yes, quite frequently I dream about the death of Holmes, in fact."

"What happens in your dreams?"

Watson pursed his lips and appeared pensive. After a few moments he answered, "Sometimes, I dream we are on a case together, and the villain we are after somehow finds away to turn on us; he shoots at both of us, only striking Holmes. In others, I wake up in the morning to find him dead in the sitting room after taking too much cocaine." He began to shake a little bit from the memories. Maybe one of his dreams was fresh on his mind . . . I placed my hand on top of his and squeezed it with reassurance. He gave me a small smile.

"That must be hard to wake up from," I mused.

"It is difficult, yes. Hence my futile attempts to keep him away from the drug and my 'overly-protective' tendencies, as Holmes likes to call them." Watson chuckled darkly, the sound scaring me. "The fool doesn't realize he's walking into his deathbed if he continues to use that foul substance."

Oh, he realizes, I thought. He just uses it out of depression! I wanted to tell Watson that he was actually having a positive affect on Holmes, but that might cause unnecessary confusion and suspicion.

"You're a good friend to look out for him like that," I told him.

Watson sighed. "I feel like it's never enough for him. He hardly listens to my advice, and disregards my concern for him. I don't think he can see how much I care for him, that stubborn man! He thinks I'm just a sentimental, passionate idiot!"

"No he doesn't! That's not true, Dr. Watson!"

"By hell, it isn't! I can see it in his eyes, Miss Ray. Oh, he believes me to be incompetent and romantic, a deadly combination in his mind!" Watson glared at the bed sheets with frightening intensity.

So, there was a whole different side to Watson that he never wrote about. Doyle failed to mention to readers how the kindly doctor didn't take too well to being known as the stupid sidekick. I could definitely feel for the incensed Dr. Watson, more than ever. Holmes was a bit of a dunderhead to treat his best friend this way, but he was too blind to notice. I couldn't help but think how now, more than ever, the nickname "cold, calculating machine" fit Holmes to the letter.

"Dr. Watson," I said quietly, shifting so I could look straight at him, "you might not know it now, heck, you might not know it ever, but Holmes really does care about you. It's just that he, like most other men in the universe, isn't comfortable with showing emotion. He _does_ care about your opinion, and trust me, he takes your advice to heart. Holmes just has his own way of showing . . . brotherly love, if you want to put it that way."

Watson's eyes looked into mine; my pale blue met with his electric hazel. "How can you be so sure, Miss Ray?"

"Just trust me. I know him a lot better than you think, and he does care about you, Dr. Watson! Be it in his idiotic, indifferent way," I said with a hint of disgust. The great detective was certainly acting like an ass, to both me _and _his best friend!

Watson seemed to accept my explanation for his friend's behavior. He squeezed my hand and grinned affectionately, in a father to daughter sort of way. Then he said, "You're right, of course. I'm only being irrational towards the whole situation. When you convey it through Holmes's perspective, I admit his reasons for his actions seem quite clear."

"He may be the world's greatest detective, but even the smartest people can be stupid," I said with a giggle.

The doctor chuckled and nodded. "Right you are, Miss Ray. If I may say, it does feel quite liberating to call him 'stupid'!"

"I know! Doesn't it make you feel that much smarter?"

"Yes it does! I can already feel my intelligence increasing as we speak!" Watson started to full-out laugh, and it was so funny, so infectious, that I couldn't help but collapse into laughter with him. The comment he made hadn't been all that funny, to be honest, but the mood was so oppressing that the comical aspect of the situation, as small as it had been, jumped right out. We laughed so hard tears were streaming down our faces; it felt so good to cry and _not_ be sad and depressed!

We didn't stop until we heard a knock on the door; whoever it was didn't wait for an answer and just strode in unannounced. Holmes looked tired, but incensed a little bit.

"As amusing as your conversation seemed to be, is it really necessary to bark like lunatics in the middle of the night?" he drawled, sounding like he'd just woken up.

But, he'd mentioned our conversation. How could he have known we were even talking in the first place? We had been speaking lowly, and the door had been closed. Plus, Holmes's room was one floor above mine. Thus, that could leave only one explanation.

"You were eavesdropping on us, Mr. Holmes?" I asked sweetly, but inside I was furious. How dare he listen in on us?! How rude! How impolite! How characteristic of Holmes!

I watched for his reaction, but he didn't move a muscle. It was only the small widening of his eyes that gave him away, which Dr. Watson didn't seem to notice. I was lucky to have sharpened my observation skills while staying with Holmes, or else I wouldn't have picked out his guilt.

"If you wanted to know what we were talking about, you could've just asked us!" I said, letting my anger show. "You don't have to pull this sneaky fox routine every time we talk behind closed doors! Normally that means it's a _private_ conversation!" All my polite entities were out the window now. I was done playing Ms. Nice Girl to this infuriating man.

"Holmes, were you really eavesdropping?" Watson asked with incredulity.

"Of course not! I just have exceptionally good hearing," Holmes said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh please, for once, can you be honest with yourself! You were listening in, plain as day. Don't try to deny it!"

"Holmes, really! What were you thinking we were talking about? Setting Parliament on fire? Kidnapping the queen?" Watson listed off with no small amount of annoyance. "I would've thought you could have trusted me to hold conversations in private with our houseguests!"

"Yeah, Holmes!" I agreed. "Besides, Dr. Watson here was only checking on me because I had a nightmare! If you couldn't hear me screaming my brains out down here, then you obviously wouldn't have heard us talking _quietly_ from your room!" I smiled smugly. "The jig is up, Holmes!"

Holmes's mouth dropped open with the rapidity of my deduction. I'd obviously surprised him, and not in a pleasant manner. His gray eyes focused with a mix of shock and coldness on my own. "Well done, Miss Ray. I admit I did not put it past you to reason with such accurateness."

"Hey, I'm a lot smarter than people give me credit for," I said with a shrug. Wait, that might have been too conceited of a response. "I mean . . . thank you, Mr. Holmes."

A small smile played on his lips before it quickly disappeared. While we were having our little banter, Watson's eyes had shifted downward; he was obviously embarrassed at having been heard speaking about how he thought Holmes to be a supercilious dolt. I looked to him and took his hand again, trying to give him confidence to face his pompous friend.

Dr. Watson looked up then, and stood up to face Holmes squarely.

"Holmes," he said quietly. "Since you heard, for the most part, my feelings towards our friendship, you are aware of my opinion of your behavior. I need to know . . ." he struggled a bit for the right words. He sighed and said with determination, "I need to know if I am the only one in this friendship who cares for his friend."

Holmes's eyes widened considerably this time. I'd thought Watson had stuck him with an ultimatum when suddenly Holmes just burst out laughing. It was louder than Watson's and mine had been, to be sure.

"Dear Watson, are you serious?" Holmes choked between spasms of laughter. "Of course I care about you, old chap! I might not appear to most of the time, but never be mistaken upon this point again! You are a most invaluable friend to me, Watson, and that shall never change!"

Holmes thrust his hand out and vigorously shook Watson's, who was looking much happier and assured.

"Unless, you do intend to kidnap the Queen, Watson," Holmes added with a smirk.

I laughed and shook my head. Trust Holmes to take a wonderfully intimate moment and make it into a farce. Watson didn't seem to mind, as long as he held the knowledge of his and Holmes's friendship. I glanced at the clock; it was time for some much needed rest.

I cleared my throat, catching the attention of the two men jesting in my bedroom. "As much fun as I see you two are having, I think it's time we all got some shut eye."

Watson smiled, his hand still grasped in Holmes's pale, long one. "Of course. Excuse us, Miss Ray, and may you have pleasanter dreams."

He turned to his friend, who had stopped grinning like an idiot.

"I would like a few moments with Miss Ray, Watson. Good night, dear friend," Holmes dismissed him.

Dr. Watson nodded and with a quick grin my way, he left for his own quarters. Holmes steadily walked over to my bedside and perched on the edge, looking rather uncomfortable. I waited for him to speak, but as always, he seemed to want to wait until I said something first. Really, the silence _and_ keeping me awake when I was starting to nod off to sleep again was getting really annoying.

"So, Mr. Holmes, what did you want to say to me?"

He looked over to me, his gray eyes sparkling. "I wanted to thank you, Miss Ray. You were very good to Watson, and he needed to be told the reasons for my actions towards him, which you promptly explained, I might add."

My eyes widened at his direct attitude. "Oh . . . you're, uh . . . welcome."

He smiled at my broken statement. Then he moved to start rolling up his nightshirt sleeve, during which he said, "And, I also wanted to show you . . . this." He bared to me his left forearm, which was covered in needle pricks and small bruising. For someone who only injected himself with cocaine, I gasped at how grotesque his arm looked.

"Why are you showing me that?" I asked with confusion.

He quickly rolled the sleeve back down. "I wanted you to see to what extent I used the drug. And now, in relation to the discussion I overheard, I have newfound motivation to quit the habit."

"Really? That's great!" I cried. He was going to stop taking drugs! He was going to stop taking drugs for Dr. Watson! And it was thanks to my nightmare! Who knew that a bad dream would ever come in handy?

"I am glad you think so. It is also because of you that I now understand Watson's thinking and his accounts of my behavior. I know now what to avoid doing to upset my friend."

I started to fidget with the edge of the blanket I lay under, not exactly wanting to say the next part because of how awkward it would sound coming from me, but knowing that it had to be said.

"You know, Mr. Holmes, he really does care the world about you. You don't even know how much you affect him, how much your friendship pleases him. I'm happy that you realize the extent of his devotion to you now." I searched his gaze for any sign of something I shouldn't have said, and was happy when he nodded in agreement.

"Now, Miss Ray," Holmes said as he stood up, "I believe it is time for me to leave you to your rest. Good night, my dear."

He called me "my dear". Holmes actually gave me a term of endearment! I felt like my heart was soaring; he was finally accepting me as a person! I was still marveling at his words when he leaned over and kissed my forehead. It was quick, and I don't think Holmes had even planned to do it in the first place. When he stood up again, he wore an expression of surprise. I think it took all in his being to not sprint from my room; instead, he walked out at a normal pace, but with every intention of getting out as fast as possible without being rude. I watched him go, my expression mirroring his own.

As I lay down in bed, mulling over the happenings of the past two hours, I remembered something I learned when I was a sophomore about Sigmund Freud. He once said that when we have dreams, to pay attention to them closely, for something to their extent could occur relatively soon after having the dream. In my case, it only took an hour after my dream for some of it to happen in reality.

I could only smile at the random thought. Thank goodness Sigmund Freud said things like that could happen. I wouldn't have traded the look Holmes had on his face afterwards for anything.


	7. Mrs Hudson Saves the Day

**Hey readers! So, just to forewarn anyone who could possibly be offended, there are references to homosexuality in this chapter...nothing major, but just wanted to let you all know! Thanks for sticking with me this far, and read and review please! And now with the chapter :)**

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It's been three weeks since I was thrown back in time to crash into a horse-drawn carriage carrying Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson of Baker Street. And, if I didn't know any better, these past three weeks have been some of the best of my life.

Not only did I finish my paper (it was in the hopes that if I did return, I wouldn't fail out of English completely), but Holmes, Watson, and I were quickly becoming very good friends. Holmes was like the eager professor every student finds during their years of education to discuss scholarly matters with, and Watson was . . . well, kind of like a father figure to me. I could talk to him about anything, related to life and my feelings and whatnot. Ideally, this was the mom department, but Watson was adequate for it.

I'd like to think that my popping out of nowhere into these two men's lives had some positive affect on their relationship. Holmes seemed to smile and laugh more, and Watson was as patient and affectionate towards his friend as ever. Not only that, but I could tell by Holmes's less-depressing demeanor that he'd really been trying to get off the cocaine. I could tell that his uplifted spirits were making him truly happier.

Every morning, I'd become used to waking up to silence. Holmes usually rose earlier than I did, and was in the sitting room puffing away on his pipe in thought. Watson was more like a teenager than I could ever be and woke up much later than any grown man I'd ever known, even later than me. Thankfully, these were the mornings I could have pleasant conversation with Holmes alone, when he seemed the most disposed to discuss things with me that he deemed unnecessary to talk about with Watson.

However, this morning was different. I woke up to uproarious laughter coming from the sitting room. Holmes's barking and Watson's chuckling mingled to make a pleasant melody that made me smile. I dressed quickly, careful of my arm and taking care to shimmy into my corset (I'd pre-tied it so Mrs. Hudson wouldn't have to lace it up every morning), and joined the pair of men in the sitting room.

Watson was sitting on the sofa, buried in his newspaper while grinning widely at Holmes, who was standing by the window, his nose almost pressed to it. I entered quietly, but somehow both men could hear me. They turned, almost looking surprised to see me.

"Good morning, gentlemen," I greeted with mock gentility.

Dr. Watson caught on and stood up to bow ridiculously low. "Good morning, Miss Ray. 'Tis a fine day today; the pigeons are cooing and the horses are trotting ever so nicely."

"Ha, never thought pigeons could make for a great day!" I giggled. I turned to Holmes, who was staring at me with a small smile on his lips. "What were you guys laughing at? I swear Inspector Lestrade could've heard you from the Yard with your volume!"

"Holmes was in the mood to play a practical joke on a young man standing near the dress shop," Watson said.

"It was for the sake of experimentation, Miss Ray, not my own personal whims!" Holmes added.

I rolled my eyes at Holmes. "Uh huh, right. What did you do to the poor man?"

Dr. Watson seemed more than willing to tell me what had happened. In fact, he looked like he would burst at the seams with excitement and eagerness. "Well, that man has been standing in front of the dress shop for . . . at least ten days now, hasn't he Holmes?" After receiving a nod from Holmes he continued. "And Holmes had deduced that due to certain tendencies of his behavior, he rather favored the love of . . . the same sex . . . as he." Watson said this somewhat uncomfortably. Who would've thought; gay men in Victorian England! I had no qualms with this, since there were certainly gay people at my school.

"Go on," I urged.

"So, Holmes employed on of his Irregulars . . . was it Scott, Holmes? Yes, he is the oldest of the Irregulars, thus he seemed more fitting for his role in Holmes's guise. Holmes gave him five shillings to run across the street and, well, flirt with the man. Mind you, Miss Ray, I was a bit indisposed to the idea, and the poor boy certainly seemed unwilling as well. But you know Holmes; he could persuade a mouse to run into a mousetrap." He gave Holmes an ironic smile, which was received with a glare. Watson chuckled and went on. "Today was the day by which the man would be tested, so to speak. Scott ran across the street, tapped the young man on the shoulder, and made various gestures that implied flirtation. We could see his lips moving as well, and the two of them seemed to be in deep conversation. Well, after about ten minutes, the man whom we were jesting with advanced upon poor Scott, quite unexpectedly."

"What? What did he do?" I asked worriedly. This joke was starting to sound like a prank jocks were expected to play on unsuspecting nerds who didn't know any better. Watson glanced at Holmes, who avoided his gaze. He seemed reluctant to continue; thus, it wasn't too hard to piece together what happened.

"Oh my God, he kissed him?! He did, didn't he?!"

Holmes began to chuckle lightly. "I did not expect my deductions to strike the bulls-eye with such accuracy! Considering it concerned matters of one's orientation, which I believe Watson to be much more capable of understanding than myself."

I couldn't believe my ears. These two grown men decided to torment a child and throw him in the way of some random guy they've been spying on, which, in my mind, sounded like handing a child to a pedophile. I stood up, absolutely furious.

"Are you kidding me? How could you do that to some poor boy? Are you seriously adults? Because to me you look like freaking three year-olds right now!" I screamed.

Holmes looked taken aback at my outburst. Watson was almost trembling visibly in his seat, clutching at his newspaper.

"I thought Victorian men, _educated and enlightened_ men, were supposed to have morals! No, instead, you choose to act like idiots and play a stupid joke on one of your Irregulars, whom I assume to be your _friends_! I guess all men really are the same: immature and juvenile!"

I stomped out of the room, straight into the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was scrubbing a pot free of any left over crumbs from breakfast. She turned slightly when I banged the door open, but continued to scrub away. I perched on the counter and watched her, waiting for her to put down the stupid rag and the stupid pot and ask me what was wrong. After five minutes, it didn't seem like she would initiate any conversation, so I cried, "Ugh!"

"Is something wrong, dear?" Mrs. Hudson kept her eyes peeled to the pot, which had been clean for about a minute now.

"Yeah, something is wrong. You wanna know what, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Tell me what's on your mind dear."

I huffed and shook my head violently. "I'll tell you what's on my mind! MEN! Stupid, stupid men!"

Mrs. Hudson put down the rag and turned to face me, an expression of expectant caution on her face. "Oh dear Lord, what did they do now?"

"Oh, I'll tell you what they did!" I leapt off the counter and whispered into her ear the extent of their amusement from the morning. I'd become more careful to watch my conversations, especially when doors were closed. Who knew if Holmes decided to eavesdrop again?

"What utter swine! Unappreciative, cruel fools! I cannot believe they would stoop so low! I'm going to give those two a stern talking-to!" Mrs. Hudson flew from the kitchen, leaving her dirty dishes behind to yell at the two reckless men in her sitting room. I smiled smugly at the door.

She didn't come back for a long time. I didn't want to go up to my room, or else I'd have to walk right into the line of fire; too easy for me to get dragged into the predicament. So, I busied myself with finishing the dirty dishes for Mrs. Hudson as a thank you for telling off Holmes and Watson for me. She would have a sterner affect on them anyway, more than I ever would. As I put some real elbow grease into those plates (seriously, they were messed up), I started to hum a song that I knew from my iPod, but I couldn't remember for the life of me what it was called. It was classical, and it was one of those famous composers that I always mixed up. Damn, the moment where I wanted Holmes to clarify it for me was the moment where I hated his guts. So I quietly sang to myself as the time droned on.

It was at least another half hour before I heard footsteps behind me in the kitchen. I couldn't stop from grinning smugly at the clean dishes stacked before me.

"Did you keep those rascals in line, Mrs. Hudson?" I smirked.

"Oh, that was definitely one of the more colorful conversations we've had with Mrs. Hudson, to be sure," a deep baritone answered.

I froze like a deer caught in headlights. Crap, they knew! They knew I set Mrs. Hudson on them, that I was the reason they were in trouble.

No matter, I told myself. Those dumbasses deserve all form of punishment they got.

I turned around slowly, expecting angry stares to be directed at me, but all I saw was Holmes's calm, indifferent gaze scouring the kitchen. When he fixed his eyes on me, I didn't shrink back afraid. I stood with my shoulders square and tried to look as determinedly stubborn as possible.

"You know you deserve every bit of yelling you got," I said lowly.

"Yes, I'm aware. It was wrong of me to delight in such trivial folly on the behalf of Scott's security. I apologize if the little experiment offended you in any way."

"If it offended me? Seriously?" The words ignited fury. "Of course I'm offended! This is the kind of crap I see pulled on the kids at school who aren't considered 'normal' or 'popular', Holmes. How do you think Scott felt? His trust in you is gonna falter unless you say you're sorry to him too."

Holmes held up a hand, palm facing me. "Rest assured, Miss Ray, I have invited the boy over to dinner tonight, and he has accepted."

"So? That's pretty much bribery and a bad replacement for an apology. You have to _say_ it Holmes, and mean it!"

"I don't need to voice it! Isn't it enough that he has willfully promised to come to dinner tonight? Willfully, Miss Ray!"

"Nope! Sorry, Holmes, but people have to hear it every once in a while, not just try and decode it from one's actions," I explained. Holmes still looked firm upon his opinion though. I carefully stepped up to him so we were less than a foot away from each other and looked up into his gray eyes, alight with fire. "See, this is exactly what I was talking about with Dr. Watson. You can't just leave clues everywhere for us to find and piece together what you're saying, or what you mean. We're all human, and we all need verbal expression, even you Holmes!"

The fire was starting to waver; I could see it. Holmes broke the eye contact and stared past my shoulder to the window, obviously wanting to avoid me and the fact that I was right. He hated being wrong in these situations. I felt the impulse to slap him and scream at him how he was just being a big baby.

He started to shift on his feet and fiddle with his hands. I stepped back a little bit, and his movements ceased for the most part. I waited for him to speak, and eventually he did.

"You're right, Miss Ray. I treated the boy poorly, and he should be apologized to by my own lips," Holmes said begrudgingly, like he was trying with all force to shut his mouth from saying those very words.

I smiled, pleased that he'd accepted his fault rather quickly for such an obstinate man. "See, was that so bad? You look like I just fed you cough syrup!"

Holmes half-smiled and said, "You know, I had many unfortunate experiences regarding cough syrup as a child. I must say that I have been scarred beyond repair."

"No wonder you don't like Dr. Watson treating your illnesses," I mused thoughtfully.

"The man fails to understand that I do _have _an immune system, which will cure me of all infirmities in due time. But I can't heal when he is attempting to shove tablespoons of that foul liquid down my throat!"

I just burst into laughter at that. So, the great Sherlock Holmes had a fear of cough syrup . . . how ironic that the man wasn't scared of guns, or poisonous animals, or any risky business. But no, when the cough syrup was afoot, Holmes looked like a meek little boy wanting to run from the monsters under his bed! Finally, I could prove that he wasn't perfect!

Holmes eyed me funnily, like I'd gone insane. That only made me laugh harder until I collapsed onto the floor. The paroxysms of humor were unstoppable for the time being, and they drew the attention of Dr. Watson.

"By heavens, Miss Ray! What is all the hilarity about?" Dr. Watson chuckled.

"Oh . . . it's, it . . . it's too good . . . Dr . . . Dr. Watson!" I choked out.

I didn't think I'd be able to stop laughing until I saw a steely look from out of the corner of my eye. Holmes was glaring at me, conveying to me that revealing his weakness would mean bad times for me. Holmes looked rather scary when he wanted to . . . if he couldn't persuade people with his suave manners, he could always intimidate them with his brute force.

"Never mind, Dr. Watson. It really wasn't that great anyway," I mumbled.

Holmes looked rather pleased with himself. When Watson turned his back, I stuck my tongue at Holmes.

"So, shall Mrs. Hudson go down to the market and purchase the components to tonight's feast?" Watson asked with a sarcastic gleam in his eye.

Mrs. Hudson walked in right then, looking no less irritated than I probably did. "Oh no, you two. As part of your punishment, you will be running errands for me today. Don't give me that whining men, I shall not have it! Now, get to it!"

Holmes and Watson filed out the kitchen door like they were marching to their executions. Had they really never done chores before? And did they need to act so childish to simple instructions? God, I never sympathized more with Mrs. Hudson than I did now. How could she stand looking after a pair of grown men who had the behavior capacities of two year-olds?

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**A/N: Hi! So, I hoped you really liked this chapter, especially since Holmes and Watson get scolded a lot :) that's always fun to read about! But anyways, please review with anything I could've done better! I love hearing from you guys and seeing what I can improve on! No flames, though! Thanks readers!**


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